


Part the First

by E M Pink (quivo)



Series: The Tobias Snape Saga [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, Severitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-08-21
Updated: 2005-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quivo/pseuds/E%20M%20Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's sixth year, and Harry has somehow gotten over Sirius' tragic death. The new problems that assail him now, however, are more mundane and mysterious. And the only person with any answers, is Professor Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Saga Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever published fanfic, if I remember correctly. I have left the author's notes and so forth as-is as part of the text, mostly because I don't want to fuss with the imported version too much until I know whether moving them around will work. Enjoy, and please don't hate me for how much I used to (mis)use italics. It *was* my first fic, and I hope you get at least as much satisfaction out of reading it as I did while putting it together back then ;)

_A/N:_

 _Nothing familiar in this story belongs to me, of course. The rest is MINE. Read and review, if you have the time. Be warned that this fic_ does _contain violence and a bit of swearing, and that Harry may seem a bit out of character at times. If that's not your cup of tea, then move on. Harry is also, as I vowed in my Yahoo group, not in a slash relationship at any point in this first part of my 'saga'. Enjoy..._

* * *

Harry shut his window with a hard _thud_. It had been raining for some time this night, with no sign of stopping. Frustrated, he flopped back onto his untidy, narrow bed, muttering to himself. Hedwig's soft, sleepy hoot failed to reassure him -- there would be no news tonight.

Again.

Harry sighed, turning over to look up at the greying ceiling. Dumbledore had been true to his word, making sure to send Harry regular owls once every three or four days. The owls changed each time, and stayed only long enough to drop off a letter or two, before launching out of the window regardless of Aunt Petunia's nervous grumbling.

"What would the neighbours _say_ \-- " would drift upwards through his door in her shrill, nasal moan. Harry never bothered to get up to answer her, or Vernon, for that matter. Harry never really bothered to get up for very much these days -- save an owl from the Order or Dumbledore or his friends, or to handle some easy chore Dudley absolutely refused to set his pudgy, inept hands to, or to shower or use the loo. The urge to eat became something of a vague pain in his stomach that he rewarded with a few halfhearted helpings of whatever bland meal was being served downstairs, and much of Harry's time was spent on his bed, thinking on the debacle of the Department of Mysteries that had occurred two or three weeks ago.

Harry had not emerged from his room for the first week. He'd lain in bed and kept on turning the events in his head till it hurt, and sobbing silently when he thought of Sirius. The pain had now faded to a dull, heavy ache in his stomach -- although that might have been because he hadn't eaten since the rain began -- and had helped to sharpen his resolve not to make such a monumental mistake like that again.

That was, if he ever got _out_ of this place in the first place.

Harry sighed again. Hours had flown during his week of self-imprisonment; once he left his room, however, and started to slowly rejoin the world of the living, they'd become interminably long. The summer dragged slowly by, his routine everlastingly monotonous, consisting of a shower, one or two chores, a meal or two if he remembered, and -- the most remotely exciting thing about his stay at Privet Drive so far -- hours of studying and feverish writing. Harry had sent off for a sturdy leather-bound notebook the day he'd emerged from his room, and was proceeding to fill it with as many offensive curses, hexes and charms as he could find in all his textbooks, most of which were stacked in a lopsided pile under his old desk. Most of them he knew -- the D.A. had been everlastingly useful in that respect -- but some of them he wondered (sometimes, aloud) why on _earth_ he'd overlooked. Several charms he'd dismissed as useless beforehand took on a new, ingenious light when he recalled the fierce duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort at the end of that awful night's battle. Some very familiar hexes were noted down for use as distracting mechanisms, and he practiced the wand movements of those he didn't know over and over again. Sirius' death had taken a harsh toll, but instilled a harsher determination -- Harry had vowed, at the end of that first week, that he'd not be taken advantage of again.

In conjunction with his newfound resolve, Harry had written directly the owners of Flourish and Blotts, asking for information on Occlumency books. They'd sent him a very short list of rare texts, and he'd sent them an order for the books. Harry devoured the first one to arrive, and had been able to sleep through the night for the first time three days ago. The book, _Unearthing the Art of Occlumency -- For Beginners_ , had explained in depth how to clear one's mind of all thoughts.

The small victory had not come cheap, though. Harry remembered the fruitless, frustrating hours had of trying to think of nothing for five days before hitting on the exact technique during one of Uncle Vernon's rants after Mad-Eye Moody had appeared on their doorstep, thinly disguised, for a "check-up". Harry had tuned out completely, nodding contritely and looking at the floor at opportune moments, all the while thinking longingly of cool, relieving water. The thought had somehow calmed and enveloped him, so that he'd realised with a start that Uncle Vernon was now ranting at Dudley, who had snuck out of his room for an impromptu raid on the refrigerator. Harry, mind still oddly full of water and the lapping of waves, had suddenly realised that his mind was _clear_ , though full of thoughts of water.

Then, later that night, as he tossed and turned from his latest dream of Sirius and his inexorable fall into the Veil, he'd risen in desperation, his scar burning hot, and thought hard of calming, cooling water. At first, he'd thought of the lake in Hogwarts, then of a vast ocean, tossing angrily. The high waves had calmed gradually to gentle lapping, and Harry found himself easily falling asleep. The rest of his dreams had been shadowy and vague, but non-threatening, and he'd woken refreshed for the first time since the Ministry.

Since then, whenever pain from his scar knifed into him, or when he felt a foreign consciousness tugging violently at the edges of his mind, he'd sat down and thought hard of that vast, endless ocean, and the insistent tugging would rapidly dwindle to a vague echo of something that he could easily dismiss.

Now, the echo of the ocean he'd created in his mind calmed him, and his frustration with the absence of owls began to peter out. Lulled by the waves, his eyelids began to droop --

 _Crack_.

Harry instantly became alert. That almost sounded like --

 _Crack -- crack -- crack -- crack --_

\-- someone _apparating_. Harry rolled off his bed speedily, wand leaping into his hand from his desk. That had begun to happen when he got nervous -- his wand appearing in his hand from wherever it was. Harry opened his door hard, striding across the hallway to Dudley's door, which he hammered on.

"Piss _off_ , you freak!" came Dudley's scared voice through the door. Harry shoved the door open.

"Get up," he ordered, in a tone that minced no words. "Get to your parents' room -- _now_ \-- " Dudley rose from his bed, his fat frame wobbling as he caught the note of fear in Harry's tone.

"What's going on?" Aunt Petunia's shrill tone demanded from behind him. "Tromping about in this night -- waking everyone -- "

"I heard something outside," Harry said, tersely gesturing for Dudley to follow him out of the room. "It could be anyone -- I want -- I want you to stay in your room -- till I come back -- "

"What do you mean, you _heard_ something..." Aunt Petunia sniffed, not budging an inch.

"It was -- " Harry began.

 _BOOM._

The walls of the house rattled around them as something exploded nearby. Dudley and Petunia stilled in shock, disregarding Harry's bellow.

"IN THE ROOM -- _NOW_ \-- "

He darted back into Dudley's room, heading for the window in the corner as his shaken relatives began to comply, stumbling for his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom, which Mad-Eye Moody had warded the day he'd come last week --

 _BOOM._

Harry's eyes widened in shock. God -- they were attacking the house of _Mrs. Figg_ \--

" _MORSMORDRE!"_

Five voices called the incantation of the Dark Mark as one, and _five_ of the evilly glowing green symbols soared into the sky --

Harry ran for his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom -- they were coming for him -- the portkey -- he needed the --

 _Crash._ The front door downstairs exploded violently, even as Harry seized his school bag, which was filled with his most important --

" _Potter!"_ a voice boomed triumphantly below. Harry skidded across the corridor, slipping and sliding in his haste to enter the bedroom --

"Come out, Potter -- give yourself up, and _maybe_ we'll let the Muggles live -- "

That shrill voice -- Bellatrix Lestrange --

Harry slammed the bedroom door, pulling out the worn portkey from his bag, yelling at his relatives.

" _Take my arm -- touch me -- "_

"Potter -- " The hated tones of Bellatrix Lestrange's voice came closer. "We know you're there -- " All the glass in the house seemed to smash at an incantation from someone, causing Dudley to shriek in fright --

" _Protego vitalis!"_ Harry whispered, putting all his strength into the spell, in case they found him before he could say the long string of latin that would activate the portkey, "Memorae sacrificum vitalis," he began, ignoring Aunt Petunia's terrified sobs.

"Oh god -- they'll kill us -- just like Lily -- "

" -- maternam protego filius est!" Harry finished, shouting now, with desperation. The door to Dudley's bedroom exploded, followed by the sound of his own. The portkey grew warm in his hands -- Harry closed his eyes --

"He's _hiding_ \-- "

The bedroom door smashed open, even as Harry felt the telltale jerk of the portkey behind his navel --

* * *

Several miles away, in a dank house in London, four shaken humans crashed to the floor.

Harry got up immediately, but not before his uncle began to bellow --

"WHAT DID YOU DO -- WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR HOUSE -- "

" _Be quiet!"_ Harry ordered, too late, as the hated screeching of Mrs. Black began in the room next to them.

" _Traitor! Filthy half-blood -- besmirching the house of my fathers -- "_

Harry extracted his painful leg from beneath Dudley's sobbing bulk, his blood roaring in his ears as he stalked over to the screeching work of art, ignoring the wailing and shouting from his aunt and uncle.

" _Incendio!"_

Green flames leaped from the end of his wand to scorch the stark frame of the portrait, effectively silencing Mrs. Black.

" _You will be silent_ ," Harry hissed, shaking with anger and shock, " _or **else**!"_

The screeching, wailing and shouting all ceased as one, and Harry lowered his wand, which was still burning with green flame.

"Out of my way -- " he strode past his shaking relatives, heading for the fireplace in the kitchen. Glancing back to see the Dursleys edging towards the forbidding front door, he spoke again. "Stay where you are -- it's not safe outside -- "

"And it's safe _here_?" demanded Aunt Petunia, angrily scrubbing at the dust on herself.

"Your house is probably burning to the ground as we _speak_ ," Harry said coldly, brimming with frustration and fear. "There are probably people watching the street outside, waiting to see if we appear here. We'd be dead before we got to the nearest bus stop if we set a foot outside."

"What about your precious _friends_?"

"Do you see _any_ of them here?" Harry shouted, frustration clear in his tone. "Something's obviously gone wrong -- there must be attacks somewhere -- I've got to contact Dumbledore, he'll know -- "

Suddenly, a low muttering could be heard as a small, bent, dirty creature crept into the kitchen, dodging round the frightened Dursleys. Harry's whole body went still.

"Filthy mudbloods...besmirching the house of Mistress...filthy master has come..."

" _Kreacher?"_

The Dursleys' eyes all turned to their freak of a nephew, who now appeared as unbalanced as they thought him to be. His dark green eyes glittered with some nameless emotion, and his body, previously still, began to twitch in the most frightening --

"I can't believe it -- you're _here_ \-- still alive -- " Harry smiled, raising his wand, his frame stilling once more, green eyes shining eerily. "Not for long -- but first -- _Gurgulio suffocare_ \-- " The Dursleys backed away from the sight that began to unfold before them. The -- the _creature_ began to choke, its large eyes widening with rage and helplessness, clawing at its own throat as Harry continued to speak, his voice going low with rage. "Sirius always wanted to do this -- he should've killed you when he had the chance -- " Kreacher whimpered, his tiny body convulsing as he began to glow a dim, sickly lavender.

The convulsions abruptly came to a stop, and the creature began to gulp in air, shivering as it tried to speak...

"Traitor...filthy..."

" _You shut your mouth!"_ A blast of white light slammed into Kreacher, throwing him violently against the wall, out of the line of sight of Harry's now terrified relatives. "You have the _guts_ to call me traitor -- I'll shut you up -- "

The fireplace in the kitchen suddenly filled with green flames, and a battered-looking forty-year-old man stumbled into the kitchen. Sighting Harry, who was now muttering a curse, his wand shaking with anger, the man strode for him, calling out.

" _Harry!"_ The boy started, pointing his wand at the newcomer and incanting a red beam of light that struck the man so that he fell down, looking thoroughly dead to the world. Aunt Petunia finally began to shriek, fearing her nephew would turn on them next. Kreacher took the opportunity to drag himself under a nearby table, still shaking from what Harry had done to him. Meanwhile, Harry had rushed to the man, first relieving him of his wand, then, on turning him over, gasped in surprise.

"You _murderer_ \-- "

"Keep it down, will you? He's not dead," Harry shot at his Aunt, pointing his wand at the man and starting to incant something. He stopped short, seeming to change his mind, and motioned to the Dursleys, who were rooted to the spot. "Stand back -- it could be anyone -- _Rudentis ligo_ \-- _ennervate_ \-- "

Ropes flew from the end of Harry's wand, binding the man tightly even as he choked down a breath of air and started, finding Harry's wand at his throat. "Harry -- thank _god_ you're alright..."

"What important spell did you teach me during third year at Hogwarts, and why?" Harry demanded, his wand steady.

"The Patronus Charm -- and because you wanted to be able to deal with them in case they ever attacked you at a Quidditch match again -- "

"Wait -- someone could've known that -- what did I hear during those lessons?"

The man stilled, his face paling. "Your -- your parents being murdered by Voldemort." His voice softened at the end, eyes locking with Harry's. Harry sighed again, worrying at his lip.

"One last thing -- what did I do after -- after Sirius died, at the Department of Ministries...?" The man gulped, looking worried.

"I'm not sure, Harry -- you ran off, and -- " The ropes binding him disappeared, and Harry helped him to his feet. "Harry -- about Kreacher -- "

"I don't want to -- "

" -- you inherited him. With the house -- from -- from -- from Sirius." The man, who Harry now knew to be Remus Lupin, friend of his dead father, clasped him on the shoulder comfortingly. Harry looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged the hand gently off.

"It's okay." He said, in a tone of resignation. Lupin peered sharply at him, before ordering Kreacher out of the kitchen in a stern tone.

"Go to your cupboard -- "

At Kreacher's shaking and muttering, Harry stepped back toward him, looking positively furious once more. "Get out -- or I _will_ kill you." The vengeful house-elf eyed Harry's unflinching stance for a minute, then hurried from the kitchen, ignoring its obvious discomfort. Harry spun back towards Remus, anger gone, worry and excitement in its place.

"Remus -- five Death Eaters just showed up -- I did the first thing I could think of -- "

"It's alright, Harry, I know," Lupin said, shoulders sagging as he took a seat at the forbidding kitchen table.

"You -- _you_ know what happened to our house?" Petunia demanded, shuffling a few feet toward them, evidently only brave enough to fidget in the doorway. Remus nodded, and extended a weary hand to them.

"Come, sit down -- it concerns all of you, too." Harry took a seat opposite him as Vernon, Petunia and Dudley nervously drew closer. Remus sighed, and began.

"There've been at least ten or twenty attacks tonight, Harry. Everyone's been running here and there, trying to get hold of survivors and help defend certain strategic places -- that's why no one's here. We couldn't spare anyone to stand watch for too long at a stretch. I was in east Surrey with Dumbledore trying to help round up the survivors of an attack when the wards around your house," he shot a sympathetic look at Aunt Petunia "failed. We all of us panicked, but Dumbledore told us to stay there, and told _me_ to return here as fast as possible to meet you if you arrived safely. There wasn't a wizarding home or office within five or ten miles of the place, so I had to apparate in jumps towards the Ministry of Magic, and use a Floo office nearby. Dumbledore didn't want any of us apparating in here, because of the spies in the Department of Magical Transportation we know -- you can easily trace apparition signatures, you know." Remus paused for air, then continued.

"Flooing in here is much safer, because Voldemort's intelligence has not, to our knowledge, infiltrated the network. The fact that this house is also Unplottable and under the Fidelius helps a lot -- you can't floo to a place you don't know. And that," Lupin finished wearily, "is why I am here."

"What about our house?" Vernon Dursley demanded, sitting down near Remus with a _thump_. "Breath Eaters attacked it, you say..?"

"Death Eaters got through the magical protections Dumbledore placed on your home, yes," Lupin answered patiently, obviously trying not to take offence at the fat man's rude tone. " _How_ they did that is still to be discovered."

"Dumbledore doesn't know why?" Harry demanded, eyes widening. "I didn't do anything -- I tried not to think of anywhere else as my home or call anywhere else that, if you know what I mean -- "

"Is _that_ how they work?" Lupin said worriedly. "Sounds a bit iffy, such important wards depending soley on your thoughts..." Lupin thought for a minute, then sighed. "I'm sure Dumbledore made sure they relied on something more substantial, so it couldn't have been you -- or at least, I don't think it was -- "

The fireplace _whooshed_ with green flames again, this time a man dressed in flowing -- if slightly dirty -- purple robes stepped out, looking immensely worried.

"Harry! Ah, I see you made it here safely..." It was Dumbledore, looking so relieved and weary that it was slightly alarming.

"Professor Dumbledore! Remus -- _Mr. Lupin_ told me the wards -- "

"It's just Remus, Harry," Harry heard his old professor mutter, even as Dumbledore took a seat beside Dudley, who looked _very_ alarmed that such an odd old man was beside him. Dumbledore, ignoring the way Dudley _squeaked_ and tried to move his bulk out of any contact with him, took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"Yes, Harry. I checked on them just after the Death Eaters that attacked Privet Drive tried to disapparate and found that they could not -- they failed for a few moments, during the attack, but, it seems, repaired themselves right away. Quite remarkable," he muttered to himself.

"They -- they _repaired_ themselves...?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Yes, Harry. And, as your Aunt and Uncle will be pleased to find out, the Death Eaters -- now in the Ministry's custody, of course -- did _not_ manage to cause any irreversible damages to the house. Unfortunately -- " Aunt Petunia spoke up then, her tone subdued, but still very sharp.

"Then why did we have to come _here_?" she demanded, peering at the weary old Headmaster. " _He_ dragged us here somehow -- did some -- some _magic_..."

"Indeed, Mrs. Dursley, Harry did -- and he did well. Had you have remained in your house a moment longer, the Death Eaters that attacked you, though unable to hurt you magically, would probably have caused your murder all the same." Harry's relatives all blanched.

"Will we...be able to go back...?" Petunia stuttered, shooting her nephew a look of fear. Dumbledore sighed.

"I am afraid not, Mrs. Dursley." At the sounds of protest that arose around him, Vernon's voice being the loudest, Dumbledore rapped sharply on the table for silence, continuing only once the muggles had calmed down. "Until Harry departs for Hogwarts, it will simply be too dangerous for you. The wards may fail again -- "

"But -- but where will we -- " Vernon spluttered.

"After Harry's return to Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the large man, "any -- ah -- attempts on his life will be confined to the school, and you will be safe enough from then. As for _where_ you will stay, if your nephew is willing" he shot a look at an astounded Harry "you will be welcome to reside temporarily in this house."

"What do you mean, 'if he is willing'?" Petunia said, eyes widening. Dumbledore gave a little smile, some of the twinkle returning to his eyes.

"Why, Harry inherited this house only a month and a half ago," he replied, pointedly ignoring the gasps of Harry's relatives. "It is heavily protected, and thus, perfectly suitable as a temporary location for you, as well as for Harry himself. Now, Harry," Dumbledore turned to the pensive boy "I need to return to the Ministry immediately. If you have any questions...?" Harry blinked, suddenly recalling something that had been nagging at him since Dumbledore had said the house at Privet Drive was fine.

"What about -- what about Mrs. Figg?" Harry's gaze wavered as Dumbledore sighed again, shaking his head. "Oh." Harry blinked again, flopping back into his chair. Dumbledore paused for a moment, waiting to see if Harry would say anything else. When the silence held, he rose from the table.

"Now, Harry, I do not need to tell you how paramount it is that you -- and your relatives -- do _not_ leave Grimmauld Place without it being arranged," Dumbledore began. Still no answer from Harry, who was staring, numb, at the table in front of him. "The supplies for your sixth year at Hogwarts will be procured for you by the end of the week. If you have any urgent questions or concerns, do not hesitate to owl me." He paused again, his eyes resting on the still young man. "Otherwise, I will see you at Hogwarts in two and a half weeks' time. Remus, the rest of the Order are at the safe house. The Weasleys may be joining you if it is safe to do so, but I doubt it. Use your pendant if you need me..." In another moment, Dumbledore was gone, accompanied by the _whoosh_ of green flames.

Harry put his head in his hands, the excitement of the night finally catching up to him. Looking round at the subdued, yet angry faces of his relatives, he sighed.

It would be a long two and a half weeks.

* * *

 _A/N: I heartily apologise for any errors - I hate seeing them in fanfics myself - and am happy to inform you that I_ will _be searching for a beta to help with this stuff. Thanks for reading..._


	2. The Battle of Grimmauld Place

_A/N: Thanks to the first three reviewers! Rest assured that I'm not going to abandon this for a while -- it's a very persistent plot bunny in my head, I tell you. I'm not going to be repeating my little disclaimer, as it goes without saying._

 _Now, in this chapter, we rejoin Harry, stuck in Grimmauld Place with only the Dursleys and Remus Lupin for company. However, the battle I refer to is not exactly what you'd expect...Enjoy..._

* * *

Harry tried hard to cling to the precious tendrils of sleep in his worn out body to no avail. Even as he slowly opened tired green eyes, the same sounds that had ruled the dark upper floors of the house around him began to penetrate his morning deafness.

"No! NO! LET -- GO -- OF -- MY -- SON -- "

Harry sighed, wrenching himself from his warm bed with not a little effort. It was Aunt Petunia, shrieking like never before, accompanied by the sounds of whacks and thuds that spoke of battle.

"Wait -- calm _down,_ please -- " The harried tones of Remus Lupin cut through Petunia's shrieks. Harry brightened slightly as he padded silently through his door, which snapped shut behind him in the slightly odd manner the doors in the whole house had been doing recently. The only good thing, he thought to himself, pausing to look round at the empty corridor he found himself in, about this whole awful situation was the fact that Remus had been with him for the past week. He'd helped as much as he could to keep the frightened, panicky Dursleys from seriously damaging themselves, _or_ the house, which seemed to actively dislike them.

Harry pondered the matter as he slipped through the door at the end of the corridor, heading as best as he could towards the shrieking -- which had now been joined by frightened sobbing, of all things. The house was less dour, now, than it had been when he'd first arrived there by portkey at night about a week ago. Bored to tears and seeking to occupy himself, he'd joined Remus in the ongoing renovation of the house after only a day of near inactivity, helping him tear down the peeling, ghastly wallpaper and scrub away the dust and mould that seemed to accumulate abnormally fast. The best thing about the renovation, however, was that Harry could use magic.

Earlier that summer, Dumbledore had told him of plans to petition Fudge (who, though definitely on his way out, had still been scrambling to do anything he could to appease the public outcry against him) to lower the age of majority to sixteen. Fudge had disagreed, but had given a concession, by way of drafting the special dispensation Harry needed to be able to do magic. The fact that he'd leaked the fact to the Daily Prophet, however, did nothing to help his appeal against impeachment, and he was summarily deposed a week later. In his place was a man from a powerful pureblood family Harry had only heard of once or twice, both times from Percy Weasley's pompous talks of parties where he'd mixed the influential and wealthy.

" _The Orwells -- bunch of half-Arabs descended directly from Rowena Ravenclaw, with more influence than money -- they don't really like the Minister," Percy had put forth, still faithfully calling the fallen Fudge by his old title. "The patriarch, old, grizzled fellow that he is, took it in his head that he'd rather have his son, Phillip Orwell, in power instead of the Minister..."_

Percy had eventually returned to the Burrow after Fudge's fall from grace, or so Ron and Ginny had told Harry. He'd come by Mrs. Figg's a few days after his reappearance at the Burrow, obviously seeking to apologise to Harry. Harry, after grudgingly tendering his forgiveness (only after asking, rather sharply, if he'd apologised to Fred and George, and if they'd forgiven him), had asked him for political news. Percy had brightened and given Harry a rather rushed summary of his tenure with Fudge, as well as the maelstrom that had torn the useless man from his post. He'd told Harry a little bit about the new Minister of Magic before a panicky Mrs. Figg had practically shoved him into the fireplace, telling Harry that the man was working, albeit rather cautiously, with Dumbledore, and, although he did not know it, the Order of the Phoenix. He'd been the only real visitor Harry had had during his three weeks at Privet Drive, as the numerous attacks throughout Britain kept them busy.

Harry paused now, forgetting the shrieks emanating from the door before him, his thoughts straying to the attacks. He did not know for certain who exactly was dead -- Ron, Ginny and Hermione had purposely avoided telling him all but the most important details of the attacks. Gringotts Bank had been hit, though unsuccessfully, just a day after Harry had first emerged from his room, and had the most casualties of any of the attacks. Azkaban had been broken into just a few days after the attack on Privet Drive, freeing a few of the Death Eaters that had been taken during the attack on the Department of Mysteries. There had even been rumours of a planned attack on St. Mungo's.

Harry sighed, opening the door slowly. For once, the disastrous scene before him did not irritate or annoy him in the least. It merely made him feel a bit bitter, that the Dursleys were seemingly confined to simple problems such as biting cupboards and malicious drawers, and, occasionally, traumatic travel by Portkey. It was, Harry thought to himself, heading into the fray, put simply, unfair.

"Hold _still_ , Dudley -- "

Finally, after fifteen minutes of cajoling and forceful shouting from both him and Remus, Dudley's arm was extracted, a bit worse for the wear, from danger, danger being in form of a bewitched sweet tin Dudley had uncovered somewhere. It seemed to have wizard space within, for otherwise Harry could simply not comprehend how Dudley's whale-like arm could have fit inside. After banishing the struggling tin, talking sternly to Dudley and consolingly to Aunt Petunia, Harry and Remus trudged down to the kitchen, already dreading the task they'd set for themselves.

Harry's books had arrived a day ago, accompanied by a demurely dressed Tonks, who Harry swore he'd seen smirking flirtatiously in Remus' direction once or twice. As the two men silently moved around the kitchen, getting breakfast ready, Harry gave a rather flirtatious smirk of his own at his memory of Lupin's red face and neck when he'd suggested the thing. That was another good thing about life here at Grimmauld -- various Order members popped in from time to time on guard duty, sometimes flooing by to check up on Harry and Remus and fill them in on happenings in the wizarding world, Tonks most of all. Whenever she stumbled into the room, merrily coughing up soot, or slipped as silently as she could (which wasn't much) through the back door, a pink sheen would coat the Last Marauder's cheeks, and stay there in some form or the other until Tonks departed, taking her bright laughter and clumsy, flirtatious smiles with her.

Harry grinned harder, and, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, paused momentarily in his preparation of the large amount of bacon they always seemed to go through in the mornings. Not a word left his mouth, erased from existence by the crashing sound that heralded the coming of Vernon Dursley. He and Remus exchanged quick looks and readied their wands.

"So he's...?" Remus tried, as the door handle twisted and creaked ominously.

"Yes." Was Harry's short answer. Out of his three relatives, Vernon had been the hardest to manage, his rants and rages one step above his wife's frantic wailing and shrieking and his son's misguided, hungry curiosity. He'd been raging against their seeming captivity in the "ruddy old shack" he called Grimmauld Place. Whenever he decided to stir from the magically enlarged room in which he, Petunia and Dudley spent most of their day, he awoke the house with his muttering and ranting, and often goaded Mrs. Black's portrait into her own hoarse, screeching rants.

"FILTHY MUGGLE SCUM!" She'd shriek over and over again, to the counterpoint of Vernon's shouts.

" _BOY_! SHUT -- THAT -- RUDDY -- THING -- UP!"

Yesterday, they'd shaken the drawing room with their shouting, and Harry and Lupin had been forced to take drastic action. Leaving Harry to threaten the portrait into silence, Lupin had cornered Uncle Vernon and stunned him, to Petunia's horror.

" _Murderers!"_ she'd wailed time and time again, until Harry, tired of the ineffectiveness of Lupin's steady remonstrances and assurances, had screamed back.

"Are you _mad?_ HE'S NOT DEAD! HE'S ONLY ASLEEP, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE!" That, and the sparks of frustration emitted by Harry's wand, shut her up. Together, Harry and Lupin had managed to levitate Uncle Vernon's massive, prone frame up the three flights of stairs to the temporary bedroom of the Dursleys, accompanied by a wide-eyed Dudley and a weeping Petunia. Unwilling to waste the precious silence that had ensued by _ennervating_ him, both wizards had assured the frightened muggles that the spell would wear off eventually.

Harry turned back to the bacon, checking it for burns. He tipped the contents of the pan onto the last empty plate on the table, affecting unconcern as Vernon, all bloodshot eyes and quivering bulk, strode into the kitchen.

This was going to be bad.

"I'll give you _five minutes_ to explain what you did to me, boy, and no more than that," the menacing tone of Uncle Vernon came from behind Harry. He spun round, frustration welling up inside him.

" _Professor Lupin_ silenced you yesterday afternoon, not me," he began lowly, fighting down the rising storm in him. As he continued, gripping the handle of the spoon he held far too tightly, his voice became silky with rage. "You woke the portrait _again_ , Uncle Vernon, just like we'd warned you not to." Harry set the spoon shakily back in the pan, breathing deeply, calling the calming ocean back to his mind. _Yes. Calm. It's only piggy Uncle Vernon, and I am_ not _going to lose my temper over such a little thing -- and certainly not going to let Voldemort inside my head just because I'd dearly like to gut him with this spoon. Yes._

 _Calm._

"YOU -- STUPID -- BOY!" Uncle Vernon began, anger evidently stripping him of the constraints his disgusting reliance on Harry's kindness had forced on him. Lupin stepped forward angrily, forgetting the bread and knife he'd been overseeing on the counter, but was headed off by Harry, who picked up a fork from nearby and began to play with it, speaking so calmly and directly it was unnerving.

"You should know, Uncle Vernon, that the _only_ reason I'm calm right now is because I'm using a _very_ rare magical," Harry stressed the word slightly, "technique to let go of my emotions. If I wasn't," his tone took on an odd, silky menace, "I'd probably be strangling you to death right now -- not with my hands, of course. But that's beside the point. The point is, _we warned you_. And, since you refused to pay attention to our warning, we took matters in our own hands, and Mr. Lupin here stunned you." Vernon's eyes widened as Harry moved forward, setting the fork down on the table unconcernedly. "Neither of us had the time _or_ the inclination to wake you and explain ourselves -- we had much more important things to be doing, such as _renovating_ this _ruddy old place_." Harry's hands gripped the back of the chair before him as he leaned toward the now pale Vernon Dursley. "You'd do better to remember that your -- your _stay_ here depends on _my_ patience -- which is rapidly wearing thin. We warn you for the last time, Uncle Vernon." Harry abruptly let go of the chair, stepping back towards the stove. "The next time you waken that portrait, _I_ will stun you -- and I'll make sure you wake up in your bed at Privet Drive, _after_ I've gotten to Hogwarts."

"You wouldn't -- wouldn't dare -- "

Harry gave him a cold look, disregarding Remus' stare. "Try me."

"The -- call the police -- " Harry's eyes narrowed, a cold smile rising to his lips.

"And if you didn't remember?" Vernon spluttered into silence, his fat mouth working soundlessly. "Be awfully hard to report what you couldn't remember. Sit down and eat your breakfast, _Uncle_." And, with a heavy thump, Uncle Vernon was seated at the large table, sullenly eating his bacon and eggs between the furtive, apprehensive glances he kept shooting at Harry, who waved his wand towards the fallen knife, which began to busily slice the loaf of bread once more.

"Harry," Remus began, drawing close. "You didn't need to _threaten_ him..." Harry jerked, turning towards him.

"Oh, really? And what would _you_ have done, Remus?" At Lupin's silence, Harry began again, sarcasm loading his words. "Really, I'd _love_ to know -- " Remus took firm hold of his arm, tugging him towards the door. "What -- "

"Not here," came the terse answer, as Remus cast hasty warming charms on the food on the table. Harry saw, for the first time, the pale faces of his other two relatives as they huddled against the door. "Go ahead," Lupin said, tipping his head towards the set table. Petunia and Dudley shuffled out of their way, and they were in a small side room a few minutes later. Harry jerked his arm, hard, from Remus' grip, surprising him.

"Harry -- " he began, but was cut off.

"You didn't need to drag me off like a _child_ \-- "

"Would you have listened to me at all?" Remus said, then sighed at the way Harry scowled. "As I was saying, there wasn't any need to threaten him like that..."

"Oh, _really_? As _I_ said, what would you have done? _Pleaded_ with him?" Harry made a small noise of disgust. "The only thing he _understands_ is a threat -- "

" -- and that's the same thing Snape keeps saying about you, and you _know_ it's not true -- "

" -- what the _hell_ does Snape have to do with _anything_?"

"Perhaps because you're starting to _remind_ me of him, Harry," Remus shot back. Harry's eyes widened incredulously.

"Are you _mad?"_ Harry replied, his voice high with frustration.

"You know," Remus began, voice level dropping to an amused low, "I actually meant that as a joke, but now that I think of it, you _are_ starting to -- "

"You _are_ mad..." Harry shook his head in disbelief, sighing and rolling his eyes. "You know, Remus, this is _really_ low, trying to head me off with that nonsense." His tone hardened. "I did what I had to back there, and you _know_ it -- "

"You did that on _purpose_ , Harry?" Lupin's eyes narrowed. Harry coloured in anger once again. "That was -- "

"I was _this close_ , Remus," he spat out, gesturing restrainedly with his fingers. "I was starting to _feel_ Voldemort _in my head_! If that _pig_ believed what I said, then so much the better -- maybe he'll actually shut his fat mouth for once -- "

Remus sighed, cutting Harry off. Harry sighed too, in frustration. "I'm -- I'm sorry, Remus. It's just this -- this _place_ \-- and here with _them_..."

"I know, Harry." Silence reigned for a few minutes, then was promptly broken by the slightly muted roar of the fireplace, followed by an equally distant shriek. Remus sighed again, a faint smile slipping lopsidedly onto his tired face. "That'll be the post, then..." He headed back toward the kitchen, Harry calling after him.

"Tell me if there's anything for me, will you? I'll be in my room..." Harry started upstairs with a vengeance, going immediately to the mirror in the toilet next to his room and immediately shutting the door and locking it. He turned an avid eye on the grumbling mirror before him, and, more importantly, on the black-haired reflection in it. His heart _thumped_ with apprehension as he stared sharply at himself.

It was _still there_.

He shook his head violently, hands clenching into fists by his side. The comment about Snape had stung at him mercilessly, reminding him of the sudden realisation he'd had a few days into their stay at Grimmauld Place, as he absently looked at himself in the mirror after a bitingly cold shower. It was subtle -- the flatter, tidier nature of his usually wild hair; the slightly larger nose, the lips that had started to thin out almost unnoticeably, and the sharper angles of his face. With his limp, rapidly growing hair hanging in his eyes, he'd looked for a moment like a distant cousin of Severus Snape's. Harry flattened his hair automatically now, making sure to keep it out of his eyes. Sneering experimentally, he blanched and shuddered at the further likeness.

If someone knew what to look for, they'd _know_. The problem, however, Harry thought, scowling at his reflection and blanching further at the result, was _what_. He himself could not understand why he'd changed like this in the slightest, and had no idea how to find out why, either, apart from asking Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who would probably just hedge and dance around the question vaguely, like he'd done about the question of the wards for the last week or so. It was still maddening the way he was told so little, sometimes. He'd felt overpoweringly guilty at the beginning of the holiday about how he'd smashed up the Headmaster's office, but _now_... Harry ran his fingers through his hair, trying not to think about his festering grievances with Dumbledore, then, looking at them, stilled in shock.

They were -- _thinner_. Longer. _Like Snape's fingers_. Gulping, he shoved them in his pockets and made his way to his room, deciding to take another crack at his sixth year Transfiguration text, which McGonagall had strongly recommended he read. And, as he settled down into his bed with the fat book, he pushed back the matter of the mysterious changes to the back of his mind.

 _After all_ , he told himself reassuringly, _it could just be my imagination_.

Stress, and all that, he thought further, hearing a deep, odd groan, undoubtedly something to do with the Dursleys, from below. He shook his dark head slightly, forcing himself to reread his page. Soon enough, Remus called him down, haltingly announcing the arrival of Tonks, and Harry shut his book, an eager grin rising to his features as he bounded downstairs to tease his old Professor.

And for the last few days of his stay, the mysterious matter stayed where it was -- at the back of his mind.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks loads to those who reviewed. The next chapter should be up pretty soon..._


	3. To Hogwarts We Go

_A/N: Insert usual disclaimer here.  
Enjoy._

* * *

Harry sat down in the empty compartment with a tired thud. He stretched with a groan, not minding, for once, that Ginny Weasley, who had followed him just as tiredly into the compartment, could see him. At least, he didn't mind until she stretched in the chair next to him as well, both their trunks safely tucked away.

It was just so _distracting_ , watching her -- _no_ , Harry told himself sharply, turning his eyes from the fascinating form of the girl beside him. _Keep your eyes to yourself -- don't be caught staring..._ His traitorous eyes found their way back, and met, instead of a condemning glare, the slightly sleepy smile of Ginny. Harry relaxed even more, allowing a small smile to come forth. It had been _supremely_ embarrassing early that morning, barging into the toilet yelling at someone who he'd thought was a water-hogging Ron, and found in his best mate's place, the frighteningly entrancing, near-naked form of his best friend's sister.

Harry blushed anew, slewing his eyes forcefully away from Ginny, who was now curling up beside him. He'd run, blushing fit to burst, but not before he stammered an apology at her and received a sleepy -- and rather naughty, now he thought about it -- giggle in return. Sitting back a little and keeping a blank cast to his face, he let himself see her lithe, partially towel-covered form again. For some reason, he was able to maintain his facade of tired disinterest while his mind ran over the rather pleasing spectre.

Harry sighed now, flexing his too-long fingers, raking them through his hair. Ginny was Ron's sister, and _could be_ nothing else. Or was it really that way? Hopelessly, he tried to think back to their last conversation on this same steadily chugging train -- had she _really_ meant what she'd said about Dean? Harry found himself hoping, rather violently, that she hadn't, and that maybe --

 _Stop it_ , he told himself firmly, shaking his head.

"Harry?" Ginny's concerned, still sleepy voice startled him from his reverie. "Are you alright?" Harry gulped, feeling guilty about what he was about to do. Again.

"Yeah," he answered, hunching his shoulders a bit, hoping that his tone wavered as much as it should. Ginny's brown eyes pierced him for a moment, then closed as she started to drift asleep. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, guilt and grief lancing through him at the same time. He'd done that far too many times for his own comfort -- passing off his seeming melancholy or introspection as grief over Sirius' death. While he still ached over the horrible sight of his godfather's fall through the veil, it was not as bad as he'd let his friends believe. Rather, he worried more about the strange changes in his body, which had, undeterred by his horror, continued. Harry snorted lightly to himself. He even worried about Ginny occasionally -- about whether she'd thought him weak and useless after the two awful attacks on his mind in the last seven days.

Shuddering at the memory of that insidious monster shouldering his way into his mind, Harry chanced a quick glance at his hands again.

 _Still the same._ He repeated the same inward litany to himself, examining the new, paler skin on his arms, which had become more pronounced that very morning. He'd thought about casting a glamour on himself, just to keep the slightly narrowed, puzzled looks everyone had been giving him lately until he solved the mystery, but had rejected the idea, as casting such a transformative spell on himself might speed up the changes, turning him into a miniature Potions professor that much more quickly.

For, two days ago, after a covert hour of examination done in the early hours of the morning, Harry had been forced to decide that he, indeed, looked a lot like Professor Snape if he carried himself just so, and set his face into the dour man's usual sneer. In fact, if his still rapidly lengthening hair fell into his eyes -- _it's almost at my chin now_ , Harry thought, letting it fall forward -- he looked remarkably like -- he shuddered further -- the son of the professor. It amazed Harry that no one had really referred to it apart from Hermione, whose reaction earlier on the platform had been to exclaim over how _thin_ he was and remark at his height, and suppose under her breath that it must be because he was growing quickly.

Harry's shoulders hunched more, involuntarily, as he thought of Hermione. He'd wanted to tell her for a long, hard moment, before Ron had stepped forward and given her an extraordinarily long (and tight) hug. They'd both emerged from it as red as lobsters, shooting him and each other furtive looks as he talked loudly of his quidditch ban being lifted.

Harry sneered bitterly to himself, feeling decidedly annoyed. His two best friends didn't even trust him with the clear information that they'd gotten over their silly arguing and decided to go out with each other, like he'd been secretly urging Ron to do over the summer. It was simply irritating, seeing them trying to hide something like that from him, and had made him equally determined not to say a thing about the mystery that had been dogging his heels.

It felt a bit petulant, but that didn't matter, he decided again, extracting his leather-bound duelling book from the schoolbag beside him, untangling it from the robes he'd stuffed in on top of the book during the frantic rush of the morning. Soon enough, he was bent over the book, thumbing through it and adding a few spells he'd thought of, and a few uses for them. The scenery sped by, his absorbed reading (and Ginny's even breathing) occasionally disturbed by the entrance and departure of the Aurors, who, at the insistence of the new Minister, were making _very_ sure that the children of the wizarding world were safe. As unnerving as it was to see their hard, penetrating gazes flitting round the compartment and asking sharp questions, it made Harry feel considerably relieved -- Voldemort wouldn't waste his resources trying to get through twenty aurors and hundreds of students just to get his skeletal hands on Harry.

Ron and Hermione returned to the carriage with the advent of the snack trolley, which carried one new offering: Fizzwhistle's Lemonade. Harry bought a bottle of it more enthusiastically than usual, wanting to hide his pensive state from Hermione's sharp eyes. She watched him almost nervously as he, Ron, and later on, Neville, argued their chances at the Quidditch cup this year and complained lightly about the Auror guard. Neville eagerly showed off his new wand to them all, and Ginny woke up with a start when Harry poked his wand in her ear. They started a mock duel then, pretending to be Draco Malfoy (who had not made his customary appearance) and Harry fighting to the death.

Just after Harry-Malfoy died a dramatically whiny death, covered in Fizzwhistle's, the voice announcing their nearness to Hogwarts burst through the hysterical laughter of those in the carriage.

"Attention, students: please be warned that there is to be a rapid search of all excepting the first years on the train at Hogsmeade station." The voice went on, making most of the passengers of Harry's compartment raise their eyebrows in slight surprise. The Minister must've pushed for _that_ \-- it did not seem to fit Dumbledore's rather trusting policy with the school students, but --

"Let's get changed, everyone -- we won't have much time," Hermione said sensibly, pulling out her neatly pressed robes. Harry followed suit, ignoring the looks Hermione gave his crumpled robes, but rather casting a quick pressing spell on them before he put them on. He felt slightly peeved by her approving nod -- what did she think he was, stupid? He'd _told_ her about all the research and studying he'd done over the summer...

"Get in line, you there!" ordered a stern voice from in front of the small group as they stepped off the train. "In line -- quick as you can -- no _pushing_ , there..."

And so the students of Hogwarts greeted their new year of study, shuffling through long lines to be thoroughly searched by the grim Aurors. It was a rather gloomy gathering, despite the chatter of the students, and filled Harry with a sense of foreboding.

A few stern questions and flicks from the searching Auror's wand sent Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna -- who joined them at the last minute -- into a carriage. Harry could not help but pause, dropping the contents of his arms, to pat the head of the nearest thestral attached to the carriage -- it was much less than they deserved, for helping him so much last term, even if it was on what amounted to fool's errand. Ignoring the pointed looks the others exchanged, he murmured his thanks to the great beast, which shuffled a little, silently, and tossed its head in acknowledgement. Smiling bitterly, Harry entered the carriage and shut the door, accepting the burden of Hedwig from Luna, who had retrieved it from where he set it on the ground on seeing the thestral.

"Harry..." Hermione sighed. Harry felt justified in letting a sneer form on his face, but stopped abruptly when he remembered his looks. He settled for a strained look instead, turning his head to watch the grounds around Hogwarts go by.

"All I was doing was telling it thank you, Hermione," he volunteered tightly, tamping down the urge to ask her if she snogged Ron in a toilet on the way there. They'd think he was being angry again, and that would just cause more problems. As it was, they just gave each other looks. That was fine by Harry.

Ginny haltingly supplied a conversation, and Harry threw himself into it, chattering away about the repairs on Grimmauld Place, where the Weasleys had come to floo together with Harry to a specially created station very near King's Cross, like all Hogwarts students except for first years, who would get on the usual platform the same way. They'd all woken ridiculously early to make the nauseating journey by Floo, so as to get through the first layer of security before arriving on the platform and boarding the Hogwarts Express. Harry had not had any time at all to show them the repairs he and Remus (and, occasionally, Tonks) had made, and he told them now.

"So, we repainted the whole room and just got rid of the furniture inside it," he said of a particularly odd room he and Remus had battled with last of all. Ron cut him off with a statement, as if he was just remembering something.

"I can't believe I forgot this -- Hermione, d'you remember if we told them about Malfoy?"

"Oh," Ginny said. "That he's not a prefect and everything? You told us _that_..." Hermione grinned as if recalling something wonderful.

"Blaise Zabini is it -- male prefect for Slytherin and everything," she said, sharing a look with Ron. "We told you that, but we _didn't_ tell you what we saw coming out of that carriage -- with the first years in it, I think. Anyway, we saw Malfoy terrorising some third year..."

"Pritchard, by any chance?" Harry interjected, leaning forward a bit. "His parents -- now, don't tell _anyone_ this -- just joined the Or -- organisation of Dumbledore's against the war and...Voldemort, and they asked me to watch out for him if I could at some point last week..." All of them stared at him. "Not in the meeting -- I'm _still_ not allowed in that," he added hastily. Neville and Luna looked a bit confused, but that couldn't be helped. Ron nodded and went on.

"Might've been Pritchard, I don't know," he confessed. "But, anyway, the boy gave just as good as he got -- hissing at Malfoy that his father was a "disgrace to purebloods everywhere". Zabini broke them up when Malfoy jumped on the kid, in the end, but it was still something." Hermione nodded, pleased.

"The best thing was how Blaise did it," she said, just as the carriage began to slow. "He didn't look apologetic or anything, or turn round and shout at Pritchard, like he might've done, last year. He just told Malfoy off impatiently, like he was some nuisance." Harry grinned.

"Would've liked to see _his_ face..." They began to disembark, as Hermione finished the tale.

"True, Harry -- he was _absolutely_ livid..."

And, with that, they stepped into the Great Hall, and the sixth year had begun.

* * *

"...and, with that said, tuck in!"

The clanking and tinkling and scraping of hungry children attacking the feast before them filled the Great Hall. Ron seemed the most enthusiastic about starting the magnificent meal -- at least to Harry, who was nimbly spearing sausages onto his plate, being rather hungry himself. Hermione chattered away at the new Gryffindor students nearby, while Ginny and Dean sat opposite each other, having an impromptu sort of grotesque face competition.

"That's not _fair_ , Dean, you're not allowed to use your wand..." Ginny complained away, finally starting to fill her own plate. Dean grinned at her -- _sickening, really_ , Harry thought privately -- and started in on his already heaped plate. Harry stared at his food, trying to get to grips with the enormous, sharp knives of jealousy stabbing in his stomach, trying to reason away the urge to hex Dean under the table so he dropped everything he touched...It _was_ only Ginny -- bright, smiling --

 _Knock it off, you_ , he told himself. Ron and Hermione gave him concerned stares, making him realise he'd spoken out loud. "Sorry -- just -- just talking to myself -- s'not my scar or anything..." They shared a worried look, but nodded anyway.

"Anyway, mate," Ron said, round a mouthful of carrots, "what d'you think's wrong with Veron, eh?"

"Vampire?" Harry offered lamely, not particularly caring what he said. Ginny was busy putting her hair into her usual ponytail, always rather fascinating to --

"Too fat," Neville muttered from nearby. "Anyway, he doesn't look _anything_ like Snape -- _he_ looks like one..." Harry agreed with the first statement heartily. Their new DADA teacher, a rather fat, jolly-looking man by the name of Romulus Veron, who seemed more like a wealthy, amiable shopkeeper than the vastly talented man Dumbledore had introduced him as, looked no more like a vampire than the Fat Friar. Right now, he was laughing -- _rather odd laugh, that_ , Harry mused absently -- at a joke Hagrid had told the entire staff table. As for the second statement, Harry refused to consider the fear that _he_ would eventually look like, as Neville stoutly attested, a vampire. Shuddering in spite of the laughter around him, he began on a slice of roast chicken, trying to cut it up without looking at his long, pale fingers.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, sharply. All eyes were on him in a moment, and it was all Harry could do not to jump up on the table and scream that he was _not_ depressed any more, and break into a wild jig, amidst the shining platters of good food, to illustrate it. Instead, he forced down the piece of chicken -- not looking at his nails, which were now an interesting, paler pink underneath -- and answered.

"Just remembering I still have Potions this year," he offered, hoping they'd -- Ron sighed, relieved, pausing in his rapid eating.

"It would've been nice to have had an Outstanding OWL, but _honestly_ , I'm glad I don't have to stand any more of him." They all eyed the sullen Professor Snape, who was glaring down the table at the still merrily laughing Veron. Harry sighed, really considering the fact this time. As the discussion round him moved on to the OWLs everyone got, he thought about the crisp Hogwarts letter that he'd scanned impatiently, until he came to the portion talking about his scores.

 **Astronomy: A**

 **Care of Magical Creatures: E**

 **Charms: E**

 **Defence Against the Dark Arts: O ( _With Merit)_**

 **Divination: P**

 **Herbology: E**

 **History of Magic: D**

 **Potions: O**

 **Transfiguration: E**

Harry had been astounded, seeing his potions score -- _outstanding_ , he'd repeated to himself many times, forgetting the creaking of the bed he lay on in Grimmauld Place. It meant he could still be an Auror, like he'd fiercely hoped. Even now, with the threat of Snape's horrible teaching hanging over his head, the thought still brought a smile to his face.

"Still can't believe I got an O in potions, though," he replied, after laughing with Ron over his failure in Divination. Ron shook his head.

"Must've been because Snape wasn't there -- I'm glad I don't have to do that, anyway..."

The feast ended soon after, and, as Harry passed through the double doors with his friends behind him, the new Head Girl, a stern-looking Ravenclaw seventh year he'd never learned the name of, stopped him.

"Here," she said shortly, thrusting a note into his hand. "The Headmaster said to give you that, and tell you to meet him after the feast," she supplied, at his questioning look. She'd stalked off before Harry could say anything. Ron and Hermione waited slightly ahead, and waited impatiently with him as he read the note.

"Just says to meet him in his office to talk about something," he offered quietly. They all looked at each other solemnly. Harry reminded himself he'd have to tell them the prophecy soon -- he hadn't had a chance this summer, what with all the secrecy surrounding his stay at Grimmauld Place. "Could you tell me the password? I'll meet you two in the Tower when I'm done..."

"It's 'sciangetella', Harry," Hermione supplied just as quietly. "See you in the Tower..."

Harry nodded, thrusting the note into his pocket, and strode off in the direction of Dumbledore's office, wondering what exactly the old man wished to tell him, that was so important that it could not wait until the next day.

* * *

"Harry," Dumbledore's cheery voice greeted him as he poked his dark head round the door of his office. "Come in and sit down, if you please. I'm sorry to have missed our conversation at Grimmauld Place last night," the old man continued briskly, "there were important matters at the Ministry that needed my attention, so..." His sparkling blue eyes examined Harry critically as he sat fidgeting in the chair before him. "Your relatives should be settling back into their home at Privet Drive as we speak, and, they now believe that they took an impromptu holiday at Brighton for the two weeks they stayed with you at Number Twelve." Harry started in surprise. "I tried to make them understand the need for secrecy, but, as your uncle was most unforthcoming, I decided it would be better that they not remember their true whereabouts at all." Harry paused for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Dumbledore rose up from his chair, walking slowly over to a sleeping Fawkes, who was perched awkwardly on the golden stand that usually held him, his bright feathers glowing softly. Silence ensued for a moment, as Dumbledore stroked the gleaming feathers of his phoenix, appearing to ponder something.

"You still wish to join the Order, Harry?" came the sudden question, startling the boy in its intensity. Harry stammered an affirmative answer, hope blossoming tightly in his chest. Dumbledore nodded, continuing. "Remus told me how -- how controlled and calm you were during your stay, despite the deplorable behaviour of your relatives," he paused here, glancing at Harry, "and also that you used no less than two restricted spells on Kreacher, the house elf, when he surprised you in the kitchen on your arrival. " Harry inhaled sharply, mouth opening to explain, to apologise, but was cut off by the headmaster, who was already lowering himself into his chair. "I merely state facts, Harry -- I make no judgements."

The unspoken 'yet' hung heavy between them, making Harry bristle inwardly at the injustice of this, of _everything_ that seemed to happen to him, around him. He kept his face as impassive as he could, his lip trembling slightly as he lowered his head to stare at his changed hands.

"And yet, you fought off Voldemort's attempts to possess you not once, but twice -- the second time in the presence of the very same house elf, whom you could have destroyed as you wished, and passed it off as the influence of Tom." Harry's green eyes travelled slowly up to Dumbledore's piercing blue, which sparkled, now, with a fierce sort of pride. "The question is not if you are worthy of the Order -- because you are, several times over -- but if the Order of the Phoenix is worthy of you." Dumbledore leaned in towards him, his blue eyes seeming to take on the strength Harry had seen properly in the Department of Mysteries for the first time. "The Order will have you, no question of that -- but, Harry, do you _really_ wish to join?"

Green eyes met blue, shining, unknowingly, with the same strength that rolled off Dumbledore in waves. Harry's face seemed to harden imperceptibly before him, and he did not flinch or look away from the piercing stare that held him, Dumbledore's powerful mind seeming to wrap its fingers round his own...searching....

Harry called up the ocean almost automatically -- a storm-tossed, heaving body of water that engulfed his thoughts and obscured all thoughts but one: the thought of the word 'yes'.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, severing the gaze, his blue eyes twinkling once more.

"Splendid, Harry," came the answer, filled with a pride that threatened to overwhelm Harry in its intensity. "You will join at Christmas, then, with the other new recruits."

"New...recruits?" Harry asked, eyes widening with curiosity.

"Yes, Harry -- from Romania, and various parts of Britain -- people that have felt shamed by their refusal to see the truth, and now wish to help us in any way they can. Some may be spies, of course -- but none of them will have access to our most precious secrets until we can be absolutely sure of them." Dumbledore removed his pearly glasses, cleaning them with a flick of his wand. "There are plans...set in motion, that will not come to fruition for a while, as they depend on the information we receive of Voldemort's actions. If they concern you, or the Prophecy," he paused here, giving Harry a searching glance, "you will be informed. For now, I deem your progress in Occlumency fit to guard you from false visions from Voldemort, _but,"_ Harry's face fell, "you will need to continue your lessons with Professor Snape in a few week's time. He will also teach you the basics of Legilimency, if your progress is swift enough."

"Why can't you teach me, Professor?" Harry said, quietly, staring at his hands once more. _More lessons with_ Snape _, of all people..._ "I don't even think Sna -- Professor Snape would be willing to teach me..."

"I am far too busy, Harry, to be here as often as is needed for your lessons," Dumbledore began. "And your Professor is really more proficient at Occlumency than I am, so he is the best instructor for you. As for his acquiescence, he agreed when I informed him of your progress, Harry," Dumbledore finished, sternly. "On the condition that you apologise for invading his memories -- "

"I've already _done_ that -- " Harry began. That had been one of the first letters he'd written, this summer --

"Then it is simple -- you will meet him, in two weeks' time, on Mondays, Thursdays and Sundays, in the evenings." Dumbledore finished. His eyes locked with Harry's for a moment, then looked down at his old, wrinkled hands. "I am sorry I cannot help you with this, Harry, but there are some things, difficult things, that you will have to face on your own."

Harry rose, anger bubbling inside him, but under firm control. The water seemed to swirl in his brain, shielding his building anger from notice. "May I be excused?" he offered the words, as politely as possible. Dumbledore nodded, the small action steeped in regret. Harry strode out curtly, the anger fighting to be released. Abruptly, he turned, heading for the Room of Requirement, outside which he thought hard of something, _anything_ to let out his frustration on.

He stepped inside, to meet a blank, grim room lined with white dummies, arranged as if in combat. Harry snarled at the empty room, unleashing his fury in his mock-duel against everything within the room. Adrenaline pumped through his slim frame, directing him to cast the most horrible curses he knew -- and some he didn't. And, when the room was a mess of broken, twisted dummies, some leaking their puffy filling out onto the floor, the walls blackened with spellfire, Harry sank into a ball and wept.

Dumbledore's last, searing look of useless regret occupied him till the morning hours, lying awake in his four-poster in Gryffindor tower, after an evasive, shortened conversation with Ron and Hermione in the common room below.

* * *

 _A/N: Hi everyone - do tell me if I've got the characterisation right and everything. Chapter 4 may be even longer than this one, as it fits in a lot, so bear with me if I take a while to update. If I take more than three or four days, know that I either have a case of writer's block, or am writing Chapters 5 and 6 as well as Chapter 4 - chapter 6 is half finished, already, as it concerns a very important letter you can all see coming. Till then..._


	4. Curiouser and Curiouser

_A/N: Right, usual disclaimer applies. Thanks to those who have reviewed!_

 _Now, as for this chapter, this is where we take a little look into how crap Harry's life is becoming, as we follow him into an odd detention with the slightly creepy Romulus Veron, and the first signs of wear and tear showing in Harry's relationship with Ron and Hermione. At the end of his tether by the end of the day, Harry receives a mysterious letter that might just be the answer to his questions..._

 **Chapter 4: Curiouser and Curiouser**

Harry looked down at the timetable before him, and sighed. Whoever came up with the idea of Potions on a Friday afternoon should have been shot. Preferably beforehand, he thought to himself, mixing and adding ingredients furiously.

Professor Snape had returned to his favourite pastime of picking on Harry, and had berated him for ten minutes about one ingredient he'd apparently ground wrong. Harry had held on to the vast, calming ocean of Occlumency, keeping his face blank and nodding contritely, which threw Snape off slightly. Hermione, frantically stirring her own potion beside him, had looked relieved that she wouldn't have to clutch at Harry's robe sleeve, and mutter her usual litany of "ignore him -- ignore him". Harry smirked a little to himself, momentarily forgetting that he would be the last to finish his Heal-all Salve. He added a handful of the reground eye of newt, the last ingredient, and began to stir -- clockwise once, counter clockwise three times.

Harry refrained from muttering the instruction to himself, feeling the sharp black eyes piercing into his back. He stirred as slowly as he could, remembering the instructions from the book -- he'd read the relevant chapters last night in the common room, shocking Hermione and traumatising Ron -- which said to finish the potion carefully, taking your time.

"That is no broth, Potter! Finish your slothful stirring and hand your potion in, this minute!" Harry gritted his teeth, keeping back the rude remark that always seemed to be ready at his lips these days. He speeded up a tiny bit, then began to painstakingly fill a vial to hand in. Although he'd progressed in keeping his temper around everything and everyone these days, it was still extremely difficult around Snape, who seemed hell bent on prying apart the growing, pulsing doors that shut in his residual anger. Breathe, Harry admonished himself, calmly stopping up the vial as Snape continued to make acerbic remarks concerning sloth-like humans. Show no fear.

Suddenly, as he approached the table, remembering at the last minute to cast a shielding charm on his vial, the potion cauldron exploded brilliantly, setting fire to his desk and many of the surrounding potions. Harry acted instantly, raising containment wards around the blazing fire as students scrambled hastily out of the way of the flames. A loud snicker could be heard behind him, and then, a muttered spell in the direction of the slowed flames that made Harry panic.

"Aqueus..." Harry started to shout in denial, but the spray of water had already hit his smoking, flaming potion, which exploded again, more violently than before.

"GET DOWN!" the voice of Severus Snape bellowed at the shocked students, as the flames ripped through Harry's already shaky wards. " _Sabulum crea!"_ the professor incanted immediately, sending a wave of recognition through Harry. A sand spell -- _of course_ \-- the potion was flammable, and adding water only spread its flames, once ignited...a wave of dread washed over Harry, realisation dawning on him. _Someone did this on_ purpose _\-- with my potion..._ The flames died down immediately under the showers of sand, and a scene of utter devastation unfolded around Harry's desk. Hermione, who had dived for cover well away from his cauldron, was shaking and covered in soot and dust, as were most of the students nearest to Harry. Harry looked behind him, only to see the smirking visage of Draco Malfoy, who gave him a malicious wink, sidling off to his unharmed desk. He knew immediately, then, that he'd been set up.

"Sir," Harry began turning to his professor, insides churning with fear, but the livid Severus Snape cut him off.

"You stupid boy," Snape snarled, coming far too close for Harry's comfort. Almost on instinct, the ocean materialised in Harry's mind, and he detachedly noted that the Potions Master's hair wasn't so much naturally greasy as merely unwashed. A foolish sense of gladness rose in him -- he'd been able to manage that, at least, washing his hair on time --

"It wasn't me, sir," Harry said, as calmly as he could, trying to prevent a note of fear from entering into his voice. "I didn't have time to do anything to my potion -- or add an explosive to it -- "

"You could have injured your class members, Potter! Destroyed school property -- " Snape's voice steadily rose, his eyes glinting with malice and anger. Harry stoutly continued, determined to at least speak his case.

"I raised a Containing Ward as quickly as I could -- someone incanted water at it behind me -- I couldn't do anything -- the flames shredded my wards..." Harry felt himself babbling, but could not stop. Snape was staring at him with a hint of shock, which hardened into angry resolve.

"Detention, Potter." Harry closed his eyes, fighting down the anger with waves of cool water. "You will serve it with Professor Veron tonight at seven o'clock -- I have more important concerns at that time than to watch you grind beetles for an hour. Class dismissed -- not you, Potter. You'll stay behind and clean up the mess you made."

It was all Harry could do not to scream, as Malfoy passed by him, smirking victoriously. He suppressed the urge as best as he could, tersely waving away Hermione's consoling look and question.

"I'll meet you in Defence...go on without me..." She sighed and left the dungeon, leaving an even wearier Harry in her wake.

Without looking at the still-scowling, forbidding professor, Harry surveyed the damage -- thankfully, it was nothing he couldn't fix -- and began to clear away the sand and soot that remained in his cauldron and in the other battered, burned ones nearby. Snape sat down at his desk, scribbling something, but Harry refused to look at him, stubbornly facing his task, dread starting to fill his chest.

It's bad enough to have detention tonight, Harry thought to himself, silently accepting the notes to take to the Defence teacher, as well as the nasty comments that accompanied them, but to have it with Veron...He sighed again, jogging off down the corridors, hoping he wouldn't be too late. He then realised that, if he was late enough, Veron might not pick him again for a demonstration, and slowed his jog to a brisk walk. Romulus Veron had made a rather impressive showing in the first class, full of excited students from all four Houses (as was the case this year), until he began fawning over Harry. It had been nothing serious -- just an overly bright smile and inquiries as to how his life was going, enough to set the eyes of everyone in the class rolling, but nothing too embarrassing. The problem, Harry thought, finally rounding the corner into the corridor where the larger, brighter Defence class resided, was that he did much the same thing the next lesson. And the next.

And the next. It was a maddening pattern, driving Harry to experiment with seating positions and various times of arrival. He'd sat in the most obscure corners of the class, wedged between a giggling Ron and Hermione -- they always seem to do that now, he muttered to himself -- and tried coming in at all manner of times. He'd even tried being silent the whole lesson, to no avail -- the irritating man would simply smile his now sickening smile, and ask if Harry would kindly answer this question, or do us the honour of demonstrating that technique. Many students could be heard muttering in disgust and disbelief each time a flaming Harry rose to demonstrate or reply to a question again, and it only added to his embarrassment.

Harry had given up on ever being allowed to actually sit through the class and learn something without interruption when he'd been deliberately rude to the awful man, and nothing had changed. Hermione had given him a long lecture last night when he'd wondered aloud what would happen if he didn't show up, so, for now, there was no escaping Romulus Veron's odd attentions.

"Yes, Mr. Finnegan, but I'm afraid your answer is not quite correct -- ah, Mr. Potter," Romulus beamed, his tone of bored irritation changing to one of pleasure on sighting Harry's reluctant entrance. Harry nodded curtly, ignoring Hermione's anxious look and making for a seat at the back of the room, before he was brought to a halt by the man's mincing words. "Would you be so kind as to tell us the difference between the shield spell, Protego, and its higher variants...?" Harry cringed, wondering why this man seemed to like him so much. He answered as shortly as he could, continuing to focus on the seat his sharp eyes had found at the back of the room.

"The higher variants of Protego require more magical strength and skill, and can protect you from a larger amount of curses, hexes and jinxes." Harry intoned, his voice in the monotone he now favoured in this lesson. He turned round, fingering the notes he clutched in his right hand, suddenly longing to be back in the dungeons, with someone who didn't like him. The smile on Veron's face widened even further, to Harry's disgust. "For instance, the highest variant, called Protego vitalis, uses a portion of the life force of the incanter to protect whatever object or being its caster desires. If performed wrongly, or hit by one of the upper levels of restricted curses, it can kill the caster. Protego, on its own, cannot harm the caster as much, if used incorrectly, and carries less risk, and only uses a small amount of its caster's magical strength. However, it cannot stop as many curses as its higher, more risky variants, which have a greater capability in that direction. Sir." Harry stepped forward against his own inclination, coming face-to-face with his smiling Professor, handing him the two notes. "My excuse for tardiness and the notice of my detention, from Professor Snape, sir," he added brusquely, disgusted that the man hadn't even so much as asked him why he was late. Harry moved swiftly to his chosen seat, wilfully ignoring the cheery nod Professor Veron gave him, and feeling angry at how bad the day was turning out.

Unfortunately for him, it was about to get worse.

An hour and a half, fifteen answers (three of them wrong ones) and five demonstrations later, Harry was stomping down to the Great Hall for dinner, feeling decidedly bitter about his lot in life, and thinking up ways to kill both Veron and Professor Snape. A note from Dumbledore at breakfast informed him that his Occlumency lessons would be beginning this evening at eight -- barely giving him enough time to extract himself from the fat clutches of Veron and get himself into the dungeon classroom of Professor Snape. Hermione and Ron hung back behind him a bit, chattering quietly about something, incensing him even more with their secret looks and sighs and giggles.

Harry plonked himself at the far end of the Gryffindor table, as near as possible to the double doors, bitterness welling up in him like a flood. His friends had still not seen fit to tell him about their burgeoning relationship, and still tiptoed about him spectacularly, the furtive glances in high evidence. They sat down on either side of him carefully, trying to make it appear that they did not want to sit together. Harry stabbed his slice of pork viciously, causing them to exchange yet another worried look.

Somewhere within him, he knew it might possibly be all just a huge misunderstanding, but right now, he could not care less. They owed it to him, should have trusted him enough to tell him to his face about an event he'd seen coming for a long time. The feeling of betrayal in him grew, feeding his anger.

"Harry!" Hermione's shocked voice brought him crashing back to earth, and he suddenly realised that the plates and cutlery around him were rattling with the force of his anger. Closing his eyes, he forced the anger back, using the lashing, tumultuous waves of his mind like a whip. Just a few hours -- you'll let it out later, in the Room of Requirement. Just a few hours...

Harry's breath slowed from the quick rasp it had unknowingly become, and the plates around him ceased to rattle. Gulping convulsively, he looked at his friends. Ron's eyes were wide with astonishment and fear, and so were Hermione's. And, what was infinitely worse -- the fearful expressions around him were overlaid with something else, that was like poison to Harry's seething self -- pity. Even Ginny was looking at him -- and Dean --

Harry got up shakily, grabbing the two remaining rolls on his plate, shaking his head as lightly as he could, trying to dispel the insidious thoughts that came to the fore.

They pity you -- imagine what they're thinking, "poor bloke -- gone crazy after losing his godfather -- good for nothing now, poor chap"...

"I have to go," Harry said, surprised at the neutral, even quality of his voice. Breathing hard, he stepped back from the table, stumbling slightly over his chair, and was gone before either Hermione or Ron could say a word. Many students turned to watch his stumbling, jerky movements as he half-walked, half-ran from the Great Hall, bumping clumsily into Neville on his way. "Sorry," he muttered, over and over again, until he did not bump into someone -- he tripped and stumbled -- over something that seemed like a leg. Harry was down on the floor for an instant, and rearing up, wand in hand, exuding menace and something that could pass for blind rage.

The surprised, blinking visage of Malfoy came into view, directly in his way. Harry started to shake, and became afraid of what he could -- and perhaps, would do if he didn't get somewhere and work out the swirling, seething anger inside him.

"Out of my way," Harry whispered, his eyes shining with such intensity that a slightly shaken Malfoy obeyed him, without thinking. Not giving the perplexed blond Slytherin any chance to compose himself and get back to the gloating he'd evidently been about to do, Harry strode off, turning sharply and bounding up the stairs, heading with a singular purpose for the Room of Requirement. He couldn't very well show up for his detention with Veron, frothing at the ears --

Thirty minutes of rather violent duelling later, a markedly more relaxed Harry Potter strolled down the corridor leading to the Defence classroom, and entered, knocking once. Stopping short, Harry stared at the class -- tables and chairs lay here and there, bent with damage and blackened with soot and spellfire. The walls were marred with blotches of colour and soot similar to those he'd left behind him in the resourceful Room of Requirement, and the duelling platform at the front of the class lay, literally, in pieces.

"Harry!" a voice exclaimed, the excitement in it making the owner of the name cringe and shudder. The man was worse than Colin Creevy --

"Professor Veron?" Harry ventured, eyeing the damage. "I'm here for my detention..." The fat man appeared in the doorway leading to his office, looking visibly rumpled.

"Yes, yes...I thought the task of cleaning the classroom would suit -- just finished a particularly strenuous practical lesson with my seventh years..." Veron mopped his brow, looking rather tired. For a moment, Harry felt sorry for him -- he imagined having to supervise more than fifty eager teenagers at duelling, and shuddered. If it was anything like what he did to the dummies in the Room, which went far beyond the cheerful chaos of the D.A., he could justifiably feel pity for the man. "...only use minor spells...that should stretch it out...careful..." the man was saying now. Harry nodded and got to work with a will.

Forty-five minutes later, all of Harry's small sympathy for Veron was gone. The man was behaving so oddly -- following him around and giving hints, instead of doing something like marking tests and homework, or whatever it was that he did normally. Harry gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the man's irritating advice on how to properly move a desk -- did he think he was stupid? Weak? Wilting? Harry moved the last desk wearily into position, straightening its legs with a flick of his wand, keeping his face as stony as possible as an almost giddy Romulus Veron congratulated him yet again.

It had been fine at first, him telling Harry how to repair the duelling platform -- he had had no idea how to go about that, and had been grateful for the help, thinking it would be short-lived. Now, Harry was ready to scream in frustration, and decidedly ready for the clock to strike the hour, and for his escape from the overly familiar man. At least twice, when he was moving a particularly stubborn or heavy desk, Veron's hand had appeared miraculously on his arm, aiding him and leaving behind a niggling discomfort.

"Well, I suppose that's it..." Romulus Veron trailed off the end of the sentence almost unhappily. Harry crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping against hope. "I suppose you can go..."

"Thank you, Professor Veron," Harry said immediately, fetching his now rather dusty schoolbag -- he'd taken it with him to the Room of Requirement, and utterly forgot to dispose of it in Gryffindor before getting here -- and was out of the door before the now despondent Veron could change his mind.

Harry, for his own part, felt relieved, even as he rapidly descended the stairs leading to Professor Snape's dungeon for the upcoming Occlumency lesson. Surely, it would be better than that awkward, horrid detention with Veron...

* * *

 _It turned out that, for the third time that day, Harry was absolutely wrong. It had begun shakily, a tense energy roiling in the air between them, Professor Snape tersely acknowledging his receipt of the apology Harry had sent him, his lip curling as he surveyed Harry's dusty, battered robe and schoolbag, which both looked worse for the wear after his angry, solo duel and cleanup of Veron's battlefield of a classroom. Harry had kept a straight face, reminding himself not to sneer, knowing the highly observant professor -- who had been giving him a few strange looks in lessons already -- would not notice the strengthening likeness to himself that Harry was now showing, with no solution to his mystery in sight. The Professor, as always, had dived into Harry's mind with little warning, and had emerged quickly, sneering his congratulations that Harry, as he said, had mastered the "basic foundations" of Occlumency._

The ensuing lesson worsened after each spell, Harry gradually ending up pinned between two opposing forces -- that of Snape's strong mind, and that of the rapidly building anger and sense of unfairness within him. By the end of the lesson, both Harry and Severus were breathing hard, Harry fighting back roiling waves of anger, and Snape shocked at what had just happened -- this boy -- Potter had just done something very odd, and very worrying -- the swirling ocean-like mass of his thoughts had seemed boiling hot, and had somehow gripped Severus and begun to drag him in, deep into that swirling, hot mass...

He shuddered inwardly, smoothing his robes, staring at the shaking, pale, slightly mad-looking lad before him.

"What was that?" he demanded. Harry made no answer, gulping away, like the fool he was showing himself to be. "Are you a fool, Potter? You drew me into your mind! If you do that with the Dark Lord -- "

" -- he'll have me for tea, I know!" Harry snapped back, feeling the presence's rotting breath at the back of his mind. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he grimly raised his wand again. "Wait -- he's -- he's here -- " Harry could dimly sense Professor Snape's fearful tone calling in the background as he sank down to the ground, clutching his head, calling up the ocean with everything that was in him. Snarling, the presence broke away, stung by the memories Harry fed it -- memories of soothing love, of laughing with friends. It soothed Harry now, bringing him back to his surroundings, back to the dim, dank dungeon around him, and the frantic Professor that stood above him.

"POTTER!" Snape was shouting at him, from rather too high above. Harry blinked, rising up wearily, keeping his features from twisting into a grimace of pain. _Mustn't let him see..._ he numbly reminded himself. He'd fallen hard on his left foot, and lain heavily on it, and the pins and needles of his returning circulation stung. Snape paused in his rant, evidently realising that his student was rising before him, unharmed. " _What happened?"_

 _Harry was surprised. "Oh, that wasn't so bad -- it was just because I was angry that it took so long..."_

 _Snape stared at him incredulously. Harry continued, starting to babble partly with relief and partly with the overwhelming desire to leave._

 _"...anyway, it's nine now -- almost curfew -- got to go -- " Harry began to back wearily away._

 _"Potter! You will stand still, and explain. Properly." Harry stilled, and continued, still babbling slightly._

 _"It was just Voldemort -- "_

 _"_ Just the Dark Lord, Potter?" Snape shouted at him. " _Are you_ INSANE? HAVE I TAUGHT YOU _NOTHING!"_ Harry's weary figure straightened, his green eyes suddenly clouding over with anger.

"I KNOW!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with anger and frustration. "Bloody hell, I KNOW! I'm sick with knowing he'll get me, ALRIGHT? GO ON -- BLAME ME FOR EVERYTHING! Blame me for having bloody VOLDEMORT decide I'm his nemesis! BECAUSE IT'S SO OBVIOUSLY MY FAULT!" Harry's hands balled into fists of their own accord, as he leaned forward, shaking and spitting in his near rage. The two men glared, chests heaving, at each other, for a long moment.

Harry swore, violently, jerking Professor Snape into action. Harry's shoulders sank with weariness.

"Don't say it -- "

"Language, Potter." The last two words were said in such a cold, menacing tone of voice that Harry stared. Surprisingly, he shook his head, and continued.

"You have no idea, do you?" a strange smile crossed Harry's face for a fleeting moment, and was gone. "Goodbye, Professor." He slipped out of the dungeon rapidly, leaving a shocked Severus Snape behind him.

Severus Snape sat down at his desk, and put his confused head in his hands.

* * *

 _Harry swung his leg violently through the open portrait door, not caring who saw him. He'd acted like a madman in Professor Snape's office just then, first giving into his anger and following in on the malicious desire to smother the dour Professor with the boiling waters of his angry mind, then shouting and screaming his voice out about all sorts of nonsense. He'd slipped out as quickly as he could, too angry and embarrassed to stay another minute, looking at the man he was so mysteriously becoming. The desire to sneer -- just to see the realisation blooming on Snape's angry, disturbed features -- had nearly overpowered him, not for the first time. Harry laughed a little wildly to himself, startling the Gryffindors around him in the common room._

What would I have said? Harry wondered to himself, avoiding the dark looks Hermione and Ron sent him, making a beeline for the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories. 'Hello, father'? 'By the way, Professor, I'm your son'? Nephew? Second cousin? Harry laughed again, his laughter tinged with bitterness.

That was the worst thing -- he didn't know what the hell he was -- all he knew, every morning, was that something had changed, and something else would change the next day, and the next...Harry's breathing speeded up as he forced his way through the packed common room, uncaring of what everyone was chattering about. He'd begun to darken his skin with concealing spells -- they didn't seem to affect the changes, he'd tested it on one hand -- and cut his still-growing hair every night. He'd even begun to wash his hair regularly, almost maniacal in the desire not to let the slightest bit of grease remain in it. It was getting harder to laugh off, harder to hide -- he'd need to chance a glamour of some sort, soon, and find an easy paternity test, or something.

I just want to know, Harry said to himself, silently, as he began to strip off his dirty robes in the empty dorm.

As if by sheer dint of his desire, a small tap-tap began to make itself heard at the window nearest to him. Harry stared at the window, almost unable to believe his eyes.

It was an owl, carrying a small envelope. Harry lunged for the window excitedly -- hoping desperately --

The grumpy, bedraggled owl flew into the dorm wearily, dropping the letter onto his blanket, and perching on one of the four posts to his bed. Harry stared at the small envelope, almost unable to believe his eyes. It was dirty, and rather old, and stamped with fading red ink that read, in smallish letters:

 **TIME DELAYED**

Harry began to breath faster again, reading the unfamiliar hand that spelled out the oddly vague address.

 ** _Harry James Potter,_**

 ** _Gryffindor Tower,_**

 ** _Hogwarts._**

Harry flicked his wand, turning the letter over and over in the air, examining the scratches and pits on the surface of the slim parchment envelope as he tested it for residual magic. The seal -- it looked like the one on some of the things he'd spied once or twice in his vault.... Suddenly, he heard what sounded like the bounding, heavy footsteps of Ron on the stairs, and made a split second decision. Summoning his invisibility cloak and stuffing it in his pocket along with the Marauder's Map -- which was nearly always on him now -- he frantically searched out and dragged on a tattered jacket and hid the letter in its pocket, so that, by the time the head of messy red hair poked round the door, he was casually trying to coax the stubborn owl down.

"Harry -- what's an owl doing in here?" Ron entered the room, sounding almost relieved. Harry spared his relief no thought -- his very being focusing on the letter that lay so casually against his chest within his torn, old jacket.

"No clue, Ron -- I was thinking -- try to take it to the Owlery..." Harry made yet another unsuccessful grab at the owl, and stared at it in disgust, mind whirling. "Listen -- I want to go out for a walk, just before curfew..."

"Cool, I'll come with -- "

"No, that's okay, Ron," Harry said quickly, edging towards the door. His friend's blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he kept talking as casually as possible. "I'm supposed to meet someone now -- won't be long -- don't wait up for me..." Harry slipped out of the sixth year boys' dorm, moving as fast as he could.

"Harry!" Hermione appeared beside him, smiling nervously. "Where have you -- "

"Sorry, Hermione -- meeting someone -- walk -- can't stay," Harry said, almost incoherently, pushing past her rapidly. Ron appeared at the top of the stairs, behind him, as Harry threaded his way easily through the thinning crowd in the common room.

"But, Harry -- "

"Was there a letter with that owl, Harry?" Ron asked suspiciously, calling after him.

"No!" Harry retorted, over his shoulder, not caring whether he was believed or not. "Excuse me, Dean -- just going out for a quick walk..." He shoved past a confused Dean, who looked like he'd just come in with a flushed, smiling Ginny. Harry's heart burned with jealousy as he forced himself to climb out of the common room, but he ignored the wrenching, tearing desire to hex Dean, and set off quickly instead, consulting the map as he ducked into a broom closet to cover himself with the invisibility cloak.

Knowing his friends might look for him here, he slipped out as silently as he could, making use of a short passageway he'd never had any cause to enter to get to the floor beneath the entrance to Gryffindor tower. During his search for a suitable spot, he met rather a lot of students on their furtive way to their various houses just after curfew, and was hard pressed to find an empty spot to sit down and read his letter in silence.

Harry had started to give up hope of finding such a place when Peeves came along, bouncing merrily, cackling fit to burst over some prank or other. Harry desperately dodged the poltergeist's stinging pellets, ducking behind an interesting, stern statue of some wizard, only to find a cleverly hidden door there that was not on the Marauder's Map. Growing increasingly desperate, he began to mutter unlocking spells under his breath.

The door remained stubbornly locked. Harry's heart sped as he racked his brain. If he was found here...He began to incant again.

He had to open this door.

* * *

 _A/N: Hi people! I know the scene with Snape towards the end might've been a bit confusing, but it couldn't be helped, and I don't feel like changing it now. How do you like old Romulus? Odd chap, eh? (Secretive grin) I'm thinking of taking off those two teaser chapters I posted on my group, just so I don't spoil the story for you all... Also, don't worry -- I'm not cruel enough to leave you with such a cliff-hanger for too long -- Chapter 5 -- A Very Gryffindor Tragedy, will soon follow this one. It's half finished, actually...Till then..._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Until I finish uploading the rest of this, I'll leave the link to the original fic here: [Part the First at Fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2546037/1/Part-the-First)


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